Page 18 of The Devil's Deceit
When Uncle Daniel came up with this madcap idea, it seemed so easy. On paper. The reality is completely different. I can sense the danger of it all closing in, caging me in a labyrinth of lies. One tug on a thread and it’ll all unravel, and we’ve barely started.
Deep breaths.
If problems arise, I’ll have to deal with them. There’s no point in worrying about something that hasn’t even happened and may never happen.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
I startle. Shit. Ihadbeen lost in my thoughts. How long have we been in the car? I force a smile. “If I took your money, you’d be overpaying.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He angles his head to one side. “I’d pay a lot more than a penny for a glimpse inside your head.”
Same. Not that I have the money.
“Mindreading not on your list of attributes, then?”
“I wish. It’d come in handy during business negotiations.”
“I’m sure you have many other tools in your arsenal to turn to in order to win.”
He flashes me that perfect smile of his, all straight white teeth and twinkling eyes. “I do like to win.”
Before I can respond, the car pulls into the curb directly outside the restaurant. Butterflies swarm my stomach, and my palms are clammy enough to draw attention. Luckily, when we step onto the pavement, Christian sticks out his arm rather than taking my hand.
When we approach, the doors open, the smell of herbs and garlic filling the air. The maître d’ greets Christian like he’s the messiah—beaming smile, sycophantic diatribe, lots of hand and arm gestures. It’s all I can do to hold back a laugh that threatens to burst out of me.
We’re swept inside to what I learn is Christian’s table. Like they literally keep it free for him on the off chance he stops by. How crazy is that? Then again, with the money the De Vils have, it’s probably the equivalent of me subscribing to a streaming service but only watching one show a month.
Christian sits on the same side of the booth he did a few weeks ago. I slide along the bench across from him, sittingexactly where his companion had sat. A thick, leatherbound menu is handed to me, and I peek up at the server. Thank God it’s not the same guy. I sweep my gaze around the restaurant, unable to see him anywhere. Doesn’t mean he isn’t here. He could be in the kitchen or on a break, but for now, I’m safe.
“Why so nervous?”
I blink, dragging my attention back to Christian. His hands rest on top of his menu, his eyes trained on me, assessing, searching for an answer to his question. Fortunately, it’s an easy answer.
“I’m not used to these kinds of places. If I chip a glass, do I have to wash pots for a month?”
He chuckles. “God, Grace, you are so fucking refreshing. Where have you been all my life?”
“Um… Cumbria.” Look at me, remembering where my alter-ego comes from.
He laughs harder. “Well, Cumbria’s loss is my gain.” He sits back while the waiter pours us both a glass of water. Christian orders a bottle of wine I’ve never heard of, then gestures to me to open the menu, although I note he doesn’t do the same.
The choices on offer are astounding. I haven’t even heard of half these dishes. Oh, Coq-au-vin. I’ve heard of that. I snap the menu shut.
“What are you having?”
“Coq-au-vin. If that’s okay?”
“Grace, you could order every single item on the menu, and it would be okay.” He beckons to the waiter. “One coq-au-vin and one duck.”
The waiter departs, and another approaches with the wine. He shows the label to Christian, who nods. Thecustomary tablespoon of wine is poured into Christian’s glass. He sips, nods again, then mine is filled before his. The pomp of it all is highly amusing to me, although I keep my grin contained. Imagine your life being filled with this crap day and night. Give me a greasy burger and a fizzy drink from a roadside van any day of the week.
Christian lifts his glass and holds it toward me. I pick mine up, and he touches the rim of his glass to mine. “Thank you for coming tonight. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
He sips, eyes on mine. I do the same. A sip or two won’t put me over the limit to drive home. I hardly touched the champagne at the theater. Too nervous. Those nerves are still there, simmering beneath the surface. If I don’t keep reminding myself who this man is, I’m in deep trouble. In other circumstances, Christian’s manners, attention, and, yes, charm, would suck me into a vortex I’d never want to leave. Everything about him is what I’d seek in a boyfriend.
On the surface, that is. Underneath, I know the truth. Didn’t the Devil disguise himself, only showing his true being when it suited his purpose? Or did I dream that up? Either way, the fact a government body has succumbed to covering up the deaths of two people is enough evidence of what he and his family are capable of. I bet they all know what happened. I can’t see him celebrating getting away with murder all by himself.
“Grace?”
